


Inside Out

by Ephermeralk



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Rimming, bottom!Jensen, prison!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephermeralk/pseuds/Ephermeralk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen can't wait to finish up his eight year prison stint. That is, until they get a hot young Correctional Officer by the name of Jared working down in his special housing unit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMPC's 2 year anniversary of bringing PORN TO YOU on Sundays <3

Jensen’s been down for exactly seven years and 275 days out of an eight year sentence when he sees the new kid. Tall, broad shouldered, slim waist, pointed nose with a big smile and prominent collar bones that accentuate the hollow of his muscular neck. He wears the black security uniform better than anyone else on the block. As Jensen’s momma would say, he’s _damn fine_. Definitely the best looking human Jensen’s seen since taking up residence in this state-owned dungeon moonlighting as a prison.

Down in special housing (built for people who are ten types of crazy and then some, like his neighbor who thinks he’s Captain America or the guy in #1 who won’t leave his cell for fear of alien abduction) they don’t see many new faces. It sets the crazy spinning, not that it takes much. Usually just the pull of gravity during a full moon, sometimes Mercury in retrograde, or on occasion—not enough Benadryl and too many chicken tacos.

To make the point clear, Jensen’s not mentally ill. Not at all. He’s in an individually locked caged that’s watched 24-7 because he’d testified against his gang in return for a reduced sentence. For the possibility of getting the felony for distribution of heroin expunged off his record as well. Out here they call it PC’ing up. Getting protective custody so to speak, so that he doesn’t wind up in the ICU after having a shank embedded into his neck. What it really means is almost 3,000 days of confinement in a 5’X8’ cement and metal box.

Jensen doesn’t mind being out here, though. There’s a TV on the wall, officers who like him because he’s _not_ likely to bite their arms or piss on their pants when they open his door, and free entertainment when there’s a real case of crazy going down. Nothing quite like seeing 10 burley men strap on their face-masks and shields, running down the hallway, ready to take down whoever’s being extra-stupid at the moment.

Today however, they’re orienting a new kid to the unit, and Jensen’s surprised that with his big doe eyes and floppy hair underneath his black, standard-issue baseball cap that he hasn’t already quit. Especially since #3 is yelling _exactly_ what he’d like to do the kid’s rose pink mouth, and his firm, young ass (Jensen suspects his asshole itself is probably the same light color as his lips).

They walk by his cell, and Jensen comes close to the door but doesn’t put his hands on the bars. Instead he leans his back against the wall, crossing his arms and legs, angling his pelvis out for maximum visibility.

“Hey there, chief,” he says as the new CO and Sargent Morgan walk by, discussing the cuff port and door opening procedures.

Morgan nods his way.

“Ackles, meet Officer Padalecki. Padalecki, this is Ackles. He’s the closest thing we’ve got to sane down here.”

“Hey, now,” he drawls, smiling wide enough and winking at Padalecki. “What’s made you so grumpy this morning Morgan?”

“Having to see your face at 6 a.m. rather than my wife’s,” Morgan throws back.

“You saying I ain’t pretty?” he quips.

“I’m saying shut the hell up and go back to bed. I’ll get you some instant coffee in a bit.”

“Thanks, Sarg,” he says, before nodding to Padalecki, “Chief. Pleasure to meet ya.”

Padalecki nods back, hint of a dimple showing on his cheek, and Jensen turns around to piss, so that he can rub off one after they leave, the the scent of Padalecki’s aftershave still lingering on the air.

\--

On the outside, Jensen would have gone up all easy and asked Officer Jared Padalecki to go out with him. Well, probably less of a question, and more of a statement. _Go out with me_. It had always worked. There’s no chance that within the week he wouldn’t have had his cock shoved all the way down Jared’s throat, or been happily bouncing on what he’s pretty sure is dick of decent proportions if Jared’s oversized hands are any indicator. He feeds on the way that young Officer Jared loses his train of thought when Jensen’s in the middle of 200 pushups with no shirt on, or when he tilts his head back and downs the cup of milk they give him at lunch before handing it back, fingertips barely touching.

All the officers have access to his offender information, so Jensen knows that Padalecki is just making small talk when he asks what he’s down for.

“Seems to me,” Padalecki says, “A guy like you should have known better. You’re obviously not the garden-variety gang-affiliated drug dealer that comes through these walls.”

With that, Jensen bristles. “You don’t know shit about my life, _chief_.”

Jared keeps his cool though, keeps pushing, “Well, considering you’re paroling in a few months, I’m trying to figure out what you’re going to do when you get out.”

“Why’s that?” Jensen snarls (it’s a bad day, Sarg didn’t bring him coffee, and he had to listen to a new intake upstairs make bird calls and wolf howls while banging on his cell all night long), “Want to find my phone number in the white pages and track me down so that you can slobber all over my window while I do my morning workout routine? Is that the best thing you’ve got going for you? Jacking off at home to the thought of fucking a convicted _felon_?”

“Yeah, maybe that,” Jared shrugs, like Jensen didn’t practically spit battery acid on him, “but more so, I want to know that you won’t be back here within a month or a year. That you won’t end up dead the minute you step outside of these walls.”

“Why do you _care_?” he asks, suddenly too tired to keep chipping away at the emotional armor that Jared’s got up. He’s kept his body lean even after over seven years on the inside, but that alone isn’t worth it for Jared to really care. The kid’s cute, really cute, and Jensen would have be delusional to think that no one else on the outside wants to be kneecaps to the ground, sucking his cock.

Jared gives him a pack of instant coffee through the bars, brightening his mood. “Maybe I’m just kinda crazy for you.”

“You could have started off with that first,” Jensen yells as Jared walks away from him, acknowledging his statement with a touch to the brim of his baseball cap.

\--

After that, things change between them. Almost imperceptibly, but with a current of energy underneath. The kind that makes Officer Padalecki’s hand linger a split second too long at the cuff port, or that allows Jensen to rub the tips of his fingers across the bony plains of Jared’s wrists without getting a disciplinary report.

“I had a baby sister,” he says, as he backs up to the cuff port to let Jared snap cold metal around his wrists. “If you were wondering why I did what I did. And I’d do it again. Hell, I’d do it fifty times over, because she’s at UT getting her degree in physical therapy.”

“…and?”

“And she’s picking me up, when I parole. She’ll be waiting for me on the other side of the razor wire, and that’s where I’m going to go. Good ol’ Austin.”

“Glad you’ve got some support,” Jared says as he opens the door to Jensen’s cell and escorts him to the showers. “Any plans on what you’re going to do when you get out?”

“Thinking about being an auto-mechanic. I always loved shop. Don’t have to have a clean record for that.”

Jared smiles. “You know, I just happen to have a classic ’67 Impala that needs some work. I’ve got to say, I was never very good at the upkeep.”

“Sounds like a good project.”

“Maybe you could teach me.”

“Watch your words there, chief,” Jensen says. He wouldn’t care, except Jared’s good at his job, and he actually _cares_ about the guys in here, and compromising him would be a complete waste of a good CO.

Jared smiles at him, and makes a point to stare as Jensen soaps up his body and jacks off with Jared one stupid metal door away from him.

\--

They let him out at 6:45 in the morning on August 23rd, and it’s already warm, one of those days where it’s going to be above 100F by noon. He shakes hands with the CO’s, slipping his sister’s phone number into the front pocket of Jared’s pants as he leaves, exchanging his prison blues for the pair of ripped, light jeans and green checkered shirt he had worn on his arrival, eight years ago.

They feel weird on his skin. Somehow too light. Too soft, because they haven’t been worn by hundreds of men, haven’t been put through scalding hot, MRSA-killing water before they reached his own body.

He walks out into the dawn in a haze, barely noticing that he’s crying when his arms wrap around his sister’s fully grown, warm and reassuring body.

She smells like home.

\--

It takes Jared a week to call him. An entire fucking week where Jensen’s pacing, and drinking, and buying old ’67 Impala manuals on-line.

They say it’s easy to forget memories if there’s nothing good about them. Like if his whole prison sentence had been torture, if he’d been raped continuously, force-fed and experimented on, he could block it out. Pretend it never happened to him, that was someone else, some construct of his mind that he would create and lock away for the simple purpose of not consciously remembering.

But his eight years weren’t like that. They were filled with wanting, sure, but he had liked the 18year old kid upstairs who sometimes liked to swallow his utensils when he got bored, or the schizophrenic old man a few cells away, who thought that he was God, and would make sweeping statements about the end of days. There was a routine. A sense of knowing what was coming. Meals, visits, yard. All at the same time, day in day out.

And then there was Jared.

Jared who takes seven whole days to call him, and all his says is, “Hey.”

Jensen knows his voice. He’d know it anywhere.

“Hey yourself.”

“So, uh, I got the next four days off. I was thinking about driving down to Austin.”

“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. I was thinking about how you might like to get some lunch with me.”

“That depends. You vegan?”

There’s a gagging sound over the phone. “Ew. You’re a freak. And no.”

“We going somewhere where I can get a big hunk of pure Texas meat?”

This time, Jensen can hear Jared’s breathing quicken over the phone. Poor kid’s probably struggling with the ability to make a sentence, with all the blood that’s flowing south of his belt buckle.

“Yeah. Uh. Sure. I think I could find a place that serves that. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up?”

Jensen rolls it off the tip of his tongue and hangs-up, stomach all in knots about seeing Jared on the outside. Worrying what Jared looks like when he’s not in all black, when he’s not handing him coffee, or holding the keys to Jensen’s freedom in his pocket.

\--

As it turns out, Jared arrives at his door step dressed in a salmon pink, short-sleeved shirt that matches the color of his lips and a pair of floral shorts. He looks like he belongs with a surf-board under his arm on the coast of California or Hawaii, not in the shadier side of one of Texas’s largest cities.

He holds out a 16-oz cup of dark, iced coffee.

“I brought this for you—I remember you liked—“

Jensen doesn’t let him get any further. Hands grasping any extra inch of shirt he can find, Jensen pulls Jared towards him and kisses him. Hard.

It takes a moment for Jared to get with the program and kiss back. He dives in completely then, opens his mouth and takes Jensen’s lower lip between his and _sucks_ , using just the hint of teeth.

Jensen lets him into his mouth, taking the opportunity to discover how close together Jared’s teeth are with his tongue. They’re rather small, and kind of scrunched together, is what he finds out.

He’s grateful when after a moment, Jared backs him up against the door to his sister’s house and gets a leg between his, giving him some much needed friction. Jensen pushes forward, and rocks his hips against Jared’s powerful thigh, making pleasure surge through his veins. But then Jared pins his arms behind his back, and all Jensen can smell is the stench of the prison on Jared’s neck, and all he can see is the darkness of his cell, closing in on him. He’s stuck, torn between a desire to be back inside, where it’s safe, where people don’t have _expectations_ of him more than to keep his head down and his mouth shut. But out here—out here Jared doesn’t have to see him. There’s always a chance that his sister could kick him to the curb if he doesn’t find a job, or he could be hauled back to jail if he forgets to see his parole officer. There’s too many choices, too many things to think about, and Jensen finds himself going limp in Jared’s arms, struggling for air.

“Jensen, you ok?”

Jared’s hand is cupping his face, forcing him to look into worried, multi-hued eyes that sparkle under the hot Texas sun.

“Not really. But I will be.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No, but I want you to fuck me until I forget every last thing about that damn place except you.”

“Lunch?” Jared questions.

“You can take me out afterwards.”

\--

They’ve already had months of foreplay, of knuckles touching and bumping shoulders, of long conversations exchanged under hours of darkness lit only by florescent 40-watt bulbs. So it’s a surprise when Jared slows down his fingers from unbuttoning his shirt.

“Hey,” Jared says quietly between pressing wet kisses against the thick tendons and full arteries of Jensen’s throat. “Let me do that.”

Jared undoes the buttons on his shirt one by one, licking his way in a straight line from the base of his collar bones to the waist of his pants. He sinks to his knees then, undoes Jensen’s zipper with his _teeth_ , and looks up at him, still concerned, and asks if it’s okay. Like there might be some possibility that Jensen didn’t want his dick ensconced in the warm, soft heat of Jared’s mouth.

“Please?” he begs, and Jared grins in response. He reaches into Jensen’s boxers, taking the full, hard heat of Jensen’s dick into his hand before pressing kisses along the veins, starting at the root, and winding up underneath the head of his cock.

“Fuck, c’mon chief,” Jensen spills out, using Jared’s nickname from the prison, “blow me good.”

Jared does _exactly_ that, alternating flicking his tongue with full on, deep-throating swallows until Jensen tries to pull him off. It works to the extent that when he comes, it’s all over, decorating Jared’s face from his eyelashes to his chin, where it’s dripping onto Jared’s knees, soaking his pants.

“Thanks,” he says, moving backwards to steady his legs by sitting on the bed.

“Oh, I’m not done yet,” Jared says, using Jensen’s discarded shirt to wipe the come off his face. “You see, I let you fuck my mouth, but sure as hell haven’t fucked you hard enough to forget the last eight years.”

“Well, maybe just the first seven. The last year had its moments.”

Jared climbs up the bed, pressing Jensen into the mattress and resting his forehead against Jensen’s.

“Yeah, it did, didn’t it?”

“Mmmm, that instant coffee was shit though.”

“You’re lucky I gave you anything. Hell, you could have sold that for $5.”

“Who says I didn’t?”

Jensen reaches down to undo Jared’s shorts, but his arms only reach so far before it’s up to Jared to shuffle out of his own floral bottoms. When he crawls back up, he presses kisses on the inside of Jensen’s legs, and Jensen finds himself squirming on the bed, his dick trying to rise for a second time, remembering how good it felt to be buried inside of Jared’s mouth.

Instead of focusing on his dick, Jared presses the heels of his hands against his thighs, forcing him to expose himself to Jared’s eyes.

“Hey,” Jared huffs, warm breath making his hole twitch in anticipation. “Don’t think for a second that you’re not gorgeous, that I can’t wait to get my dick inside of you.”

“Then stop running your mouth and fuck me,” he snarks, unprepared for the way that Jared’s tongue licks over his hole a split second later.

“Jared—what the fuck?” he says, trying to climb away, as Jared’s hands reach up to his hips to hold him in place.

“Hey, just give it a chance. If you don’t like it in a few minutes, I’ll stop.”

Jared licks into him then, opening him up on his tongue before nipping softly at his rim. It gets even better when he sticks his thumbs in and _pulls_ him apart, literally, before licking his way back inside.

Jensen’s not quite in a place that allows for higher brain function by the time that Jared presses his cock against his lax and slightly gaping hole. It’s blunter, hotter, more unrelenting than Jared’s fingers or his tongue, but Jared rubs soothing circles against his hips, and tells him it’s going to be alright.

He’s never been wrong about that sort of thing yet.

It takes some getting used too—Jared’s dick inside of him, and honestly, the burning doesn’t subside, he just winds up being overpowered by dopamine in his synapses as Jared pushes harder and faster against him until he collapses, still on top of him.

This time, it’s Jensen’s turn to lazily draw circles on Jared’s sweaty back as he brackets Jared’s body with his knees.

“Stay,” he says, when Jared makes a move to withdraw. “Just for a while.”

“What about that fresh Texas meat you wanted?” Jared asks, laughing into Jensen’s neck.

“Got that,” Jensen says. “But I think there’s still some iced coffee for me on the porch, and I can throw a box of pasta on the stove if you’re hungry.”

“And fuck again afterwards?”

“My ass is a bit sore…despite what they say about prison, it’s goddamn hard to get some when you’re locked in a cell all day.”

Jared shrugs. “You can top. I’m cool with that.”

“Alright,” he says, although he locks his knees just a bit tighter when Jared tries to pull his soft cock from his ass. “Just, stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jensen.”

“Not even if you get another hot inmate on your unit?”

“Not even if I got your fucking twin.”

Jensen spreads his legs, allowing Jared to pull out. “Fine. But I want my coffee in bed. Now.”

“Still just as needy, aren’t you Ackles?” Jared huffs as he struggles to get back into his underwear and shorts.

“You know it. Get hoppin’ chief. You’re wasting valuable time that we could be fucking here.”

\--

When Jared comes back he’s not only got coffee, but the old manual for the ’67 Impala he’d bought off the net.

“What’s this?” he asks, throwing the book down.

“What? You can’t read?”

“No. I can. Just—you remembered?”

“I thought, you know, maybe someday…”

“How do you feel about staying with me next weekend? And you know. Every weekend after that?”

Jensen smiles. “Pretty good, chief. Pretty good.”

He’s not better yet. But he will be. He’ll take Jared out of every prison memory he has, until it doesn’t matter that he was down for eight years, because in the end he got out. He got Jared.

 _Some people wait their whole lives and never find the right person,_ he thinks. Eight years is a small price pay.


End file.
